


A Dream Inside a Reality

by zeltale



Category: Minecraft (Video Game)
Genre: ADHD, Angst, Hallucinations, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Mental Instability, Schizophrenia, but dream doesnt actually exist lmao
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-05
Updated: 2021-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-18 00:54:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29850117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zeltale/pseuds/zeltale
Summary: George has lived his life out with a disorder he'd told no one else about.He wished there were anyone to tell but the man in his door at night, anyway.
Relationships: Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 22





	A Dream Inside a Reality

**Author's Note:**

> This story was inspired by my consistent idea to write a Ghost AU, which ended up turning into a Schizophrenia AU as I wrote. I tried to keep it short but still interesting, because I didn't want a long term project. Also, I’d like to point out that small text is usually to represent a reverberated whisper, but you can interpret it however you like! I hope you enjoy reading this, because I sure as hell enjoyed writing it. 
> 
> Also, if you're willing too, I would recommend listening to dreamcore/weirdcore music while reading. It's what I listened to while revising and I feel like it enhances the story! :)
> 
> Without further adieu, I present to thee, Georgenotsane.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
ₐ ₛₘᵢₗₑ  
  
  
George shot up in bed, gripping the light-blue sheets underneath his sweats and breathing heavily. He whipped his head around the room, checking every corner and crevice his still adjusting eyes could see. A single movement of his hands around the metal of his bedside lamp proved to light up the area. After a glance of the room before him, he groaned. Of course it wasn’t real, it was just a nightmare. Just a nightmare. George groggily picked up his phone, unlocking it and opening up his calendar app.  
  
 ** _Remind_** **_Doctor Beisley -_** ** _Prazosin_** ** _  
_** ** _  
_**He sighed inwardly, looking over to his alarm clock. 4 AM. He knew he wouldn’t fall back asleep anyway, so he swung his feet around his bedside instead. He tossed his cellular to the foot of his bed, letting it bounce on the comforter. In an attempt to loosen up a bit, he brought his arms over his head and clamped his hands together, stretching backwards. George let his hands fall down and his eyes roam to the ground when he felt something brush up against his leg. He smiled, bending down to pet Luca.  
  
  
  
**Lᵤcₐ?**  
  
  
George jolted up, immediately standing out of bed and slamming his light switch up. He looked around, hyperventilating. He began to feel dizzy, already struggling to see from the tears in his eyes. He leaned against his wall, shaking his head slowly until the room was no longer spinning. The brunette slid against the cream paint to the ground, putting his hands in his hair. Water leaked down his face, and he felt like he couldn’t breath. His chest was being torn apart, some mad scientist ripping and tearing at flesh. A rat in a hot bucket eating through his lungs. What was wrong with him? After all this time? Luca died two years ago.  
  
A shaky inhale intruded his now functioning lungs, leaving the man to stop his sobs alone on the floor. Eventually he regained himself, looking around. George picked up his phone off the nightstand, unlocking it.  
  
It rang once.  
  
Twice.  
  
“Hello, this is Doctor Beisley from Adult and Child, how may I help you?”  
  
“Hey, it’s George. Davidson? Could I get that prescription refilled please?”  
  
  
\-------------------------  
  
  
George rummaged around in his fridge, looking for something decent to eat. He eventually managed to find some cold pizza from a couple days ago, and shrugged, throwing that on a paper plate and into the microwave. As he waited for the pizza to warm up, shivers ran through his arms, causing him to rub his hands together. The male walked to the thermostat, turning it up a couple degrees. No matter how warm he set it, the house seemed to always be cold. Even in the summer, with his windows open and the late night air circling through the window, he could smell the rain where there was none. Feel the icy air that didn't exist on his fingers that were against the window screen yet actually under covers. Could see the stars of the sky as he felt the grass under his legs from his roofed bedroom with his curtain closed.  
  
George jumped as the microwave dinged, looking to the kitchen and trodding back over to the tiled floor. He yawned, taking the plate out of the microwave and walking back to his bedroom. George always used distracting himself as a way to escape reality. When sitting in his room, he’d often wander to places he couldn’t see in the moment, had never visited. A field full of wild flowers he couldn’t recognize the colors of, or a starry hill on top of grass as tall as his waist. His mother always blamed it on extreme imagination. He used to have an imaginary friend. On long car rides when he’d be moving houses, or visiting his grandparents downstate, the phone lines outside the window proved to be the perfect racing track for his cat that only existed in his mind. Why was it a cat? He had no idea. The fastest cat in the world, perhaps. Doing parkour along the wires and keeping up with the car. He remembered the day it fell and splat on the road. Head busted, blood staining the concrete. His mother insisted it was not real, how could a cat that runs along phone lines at 80MPH be? George was devastated that day, though. He’d always been too attached to things, especially if they were only in his  
  
ₕₑₐd.  
  
  
\-------------------------  
  
  
  
He had woken up that day, seeing a man in his doorway. It was a very early 3:56 AM, but he remembers seeing that man. George lives alone.  
  
He sat up, staring at the figure. It seemed to stare back, though it was purely blacked out. George knew he should be afraid, there was a man in his doorway. He did not know the man. He was supposed to be alone. George stood, taking a step closer. Perhaps it was just a shadow? No. The man’s chest rose. It’s heavy breath racked the air. A tension George could not describe filled the room. George did not want to approach the figure. He wanted to hide in his bed and cry like a child. There was a man at his door, for god’s sake. That didn’t stop him, though. Something pulled him forward. Perhaps curiosity?  
  
You know what they say,  
  
 **curiosity killed the cat.**  
  
  
  
  
  
George gasped as he awoke with a start, staring at his white popcorn ceiling. He looked over to his door, seeing it closed. The brunette sighed. Why had he approached the man without hesitation? He knew better than to do that. One may argue you didn’t have complete decision making skills when dreaming, but George had always had a sort of control of his mind that no one else had. If that man had actually been in his room, would he have walked to him so easily?  
  
The male stood up, stretching and walking to his door. He might as well get up for the day. He opened his door, smiling and with a bounce in his step. Today would be a good day. He ran into something, hitting his nose hard enough to daze him. As the shorter looked up, he was met with the man from his dream.  
  
..  
  
 ** _ʷʰᵃᵗ?_**  
  
  
He felt as if he was floating, gravity had turned to nothing and air suddenly had the consistency of water. The gasp that escaped him seemed a whisper, and time froze.  
  
Then it didn’t.  
  
George slammed the door shut, breathing fast. He leaned back against the door, seeing the bedroom go a blinding bright brown color, which he could only assume was red. He shut his eyes, looking down.  
  
George fell backwards, but instead of hitting ground he kept going down. It felt as though he fell for miles, wind rushing past his head and a white light so blinding he didn’t dare open his eyes for fear of burning his retinas. George balled up, tucking his head on his knees.  
  
Suddenly, the wind was gone. Everything was peaceful. He was spread out on his back, lying on something silky. The brunette was no longer going deaf to the sound of air beating against itself, but instead heard the faint song of birds. He opened his eyes to be met with a blue sky and tall grass. He sat up, looking around. What happened? Why was he in a flower field? It was almost as if he was teleported? Curled up and free falling then suddenly peacefully resting on grass.  
  
The area looked similar to the one he saw on cold winter nights, staring out his window at the busy street below. George stood up and walked around. It was quite pretty, the tan grass had an almost pink tint, field going on and on as far as one could see. The only thing different from the neverending plain was a lone tree, far enough away it was merely a silhouette. George began to wander towards it, the faint scent of pollen from wild flowers and spring season filling his head. The male continued walking until he spotted something, a color similar to that of the pinkish grass, but leaning more toward yellow rather than rose. The closer he got, he realised it was a head. The head of a man with dirty blonde hair.  
  
As George got closer he saw the man was sitting in a clearing. Not that much larger than maybe 10 feet each direction, but a clearing nonetheless. George made sure to approach from a side the man could see him, entering the small clearing and sitting down with him. The man looked down from the sky at George, sporting a white mouth mask with a simple black smile on it. The brunette let the other’s eyes train on him as he got comfortable on the mossy, damp ground. George looked up to meet the other’s gaze, smiling as part of his greeting.  
  
“Hello! I’m George. Who are you?”  
  
The other didn’t talk, just watched George. He adjusted his yellow hoodie as he changed sitting position, looking at George as though he expected him to keep talking.  
  
“Mm. Not one to talk? That’s okay, I like being quiet too.”  
  
George leaned back on his hands, looking up.  
  
“Are you here for a reason?”  
  
The man nodded, then joining George in looking back at the sky  
  
The two left it at that, enjoying the sky together. Eventually the shorter felt himself dozing off, so he laid back and shut his eyes, folding his hands together on his torso and falling under sleep’s trance.  
  
  
  
He awoke on his back in the hallway, feet still in the doorway from when his doorknob had given out and sent him falling backwards.  
  
  
\-------------------------  
  
  
George sighed, scanning the pack of waters with his handheld barcode reader. He leaned back to his side of the counter, punching in a couple numbers to the keyboard.  
  
“$67.60, ma’am.”  
  
The blonde woman smiled, thanking him. She reached down in her handbag to reveal a blue card, pushing it into the reader. George rested his head on his hand, seeing there was no one else in line. He pushed a button after she took her card out, and waited for the receipt to print. The male ripped it off and handed it to her, watching her adjust her glasses then walk towards the door. George leaned back, happy it was almost closing time. He began to scroll through Twitter when his boss tapped him on the shoulder.  
  
“Could you lock up for me George? I have to go pick up Lia from her boyfriends, and I won’t be around for the last 20 minutes.”  
  
George smiled, nodding. He had been wanting to go home soon, considering his dreams were acting up more than usual and he hadn’t been getting good sleep because of it, but he respected his boss as a person. He looked down at his phone as his boss left the building, glad no other customers were in. He’d usually be on shift with Nick right now, but Nick had called in the past couple days. George never had very many friends, he preferred much more to be a loner, but Nick got along with him.  
  
He looked up when he heard footsteps, seeing the door close behind a customer entering the other door. He only caught a flash of yellow before they disappeared behind a shelf. George shrugged, going back to his own thoughts.  
  
He liked a post, chuckling a bit under his breath. Twitter was such hellfire, yet seemed to pull through and be hilarious nonetheless. He wondered how this company stayed afloat. The sound of footsteps approaching his check-out station alerted him to put his phone to sleep and look up.  
  
The brunette first registered the dumb, sloppy smile. Then, the yellow v-neck hoodie. He was met with the man from his dreams, holding a product that looked like a coke can but instead beamed a bright white light.  
  
He felt it again. The feeling he got from the figure in his door. Floating, unable to breath, everything dead silent, the need to whisper instead of speak and only if absolutely necessary. George decided now that this wasn’t a feeling or emotion, nor a physical stop in time.  
  
It was a trance.  
  
The man from his dreams put him under a trance. Where George could only look into the other’s dull yellow, yet gold-flecked eyes and hold his breath. They were so entrancing. Nothing moved, it was silent for what seemed like minutes. The kind of silence that made you want to scream, hide, tear yourself apart just to hear something. To feel something in the absolute sensory disconnection.  
  
George wondered how long it had been, how he was still alive and not a corpse on the dirty-tiled Aldi floor from suffocation.  
  
And then all was normal.  
  
As normal as it can get with a man that doesn’t exist standing in front of your register, breathing the same air you are.  
  
The man dropped the can on the conveyor belt, and the soda he couldn’t name suddenly didn’t exist. Merely a memory where a metal cylinder should’ve been in space.  
  
He looked up to see the yellow sweatshirt disappearing around the door. George cursed himself at getting side-tracked so easily. He picked up his belongings and rushed to the door, turning the lights off and locking the large windowed doors. He turned around to see the man gone, no cars in the lot but his own. He never heard an engine start.  
  
He scowled. Not fast enough. The brunette trudged to his car, forcing the keys into ignition and pulling out of the pavemented square. They were closing early today. 

\-------------------------  
  
  
  
George pulled into his driveway, headlights meeting the plastic of his garage door. He didn’t care enough to pull his car in, only got out and sprint walked to the front door. He fumbled with his keys for a second before finding his house key and unlocking the door with urgency. Some time during his drive he had started feeling unsafe, long after the anger had settled.  
  
The shorter had decided now, the man was as much a part of reality as he was a part of George’s mind. He was as real as George believed him to be, and he couldn’t help but feel a presence in the back seat of his car on the way home. A feeling that followed him through the door of his house. Footsteps on his heels that weren’t there. A breath on his neck that gave off a predatory aurora.  
  
George rushed to the bathroom. He looked at himself in the mirror, forcing his eyes not to wander too long on the wall behind him where he felt a man, yet there was not one. He washed his face off with cold water, sighing deeply. It helped. Perhaps a warm shower would as well.  
  
George stripped his brightly colored work uniform, running the water. He forced himself to think of nothing, because thinking of anything led him back to his own insanity. The male stepped into the not yet warm water, shuddering slightly. He sat down on the tiled shower floor, head in hands.  
  
The dirt was wet, but not sopping. He awoke on his back, hands folded on stomach. Nothing had changed since he had last been here, but now it was sprinkling. Small droplets of water got into his eyes, forcing George to shut them as he rose. He looked around, the once tall and swaying grass now heavy with the water dripping from its underside. The clearing he had been snoozing in now seemed to be getting sloshy, so he stood up for fear of his clothes becoming muddy. The brunette looked around, realising the man was nowhere to be seen. He looked down to where the man had previously been sitting, there lied a crunched-up metal can with no label. Against its side was a white daffodil, it’s petals beaten down from the rain and it’s stem crinkled.  
  
George looked around, puzzled. The only thing he could spot other than the weighted grass was the tree.  
  
The tree.  
  
He squinted, seeing the silhouette of a man in a hoodie at the horizon. He started walking that way, slowly but surely, careful to avoid the long yet bent vegetation so as not to soak his jeans.  
  
His feet moved towards the figure with ease, almost as if he weren’t controlling them. His footsteps quickly became mere background noise as he walked forward. It was soothing, the smell of rain and the occasional pops of color from tall wildflowers he couldn’t entirely see. He was colorblind, sure, but he still enjoyed the flowers fully. They weren’t just pretty colors, each had a story. Each had a feeling.  
  
He didn’t know how long he was walking, it soon just became a rhythm of steps.  
  
George jerked his head up. He wasn’t sure exactly what made him do it. Perhaps the slight darkening of the sky, or possibly the cease of the quiet insects and buzzing that the field always provided. He wasn’t sure, but he realised he was glad he did one way or the other.  
  
The sky cracked horribly in his ears, flashed a white that forced him to close his eyes,  
  
and George awoke on the shower floor to his alarm clock going off from the other room.  
  
  
\-------------------------

  
George pulled into the parking lot of his work, hair still damp and uniform unwashed from where it had lain on the ground the night before. He parked his car and walked inside, happy to feel alone for the first time since he left this same place yesterday. The male sighed, getting out of his car and walking inside. He greeted his other 2 coworkers and sat down at his respectable cash register. He usually worked the register all day, as the other two helped stock the shelves and sort the products. He knew there were more people working in the back, but he never considered them coworkers. He never saw them, never spoke to them, only knew of their existence. He figured it was the same for them with his position. He sighed, opening his phone and waiting for someone to come to his line. Tuesdays were always slow, he never understood why. Of all days, why Tuesday? He was dragged out of his train of thought as a woman started unloading her cart onto the conveyor belt.  
  
  
\-------------------------  
  
  
George yawned. He’d been sitting in front of a money machine and impatient vegans all day, and was more than ready to go home. It was just him and Kyle now, Callahan had long since left. Only about 50 minutes until closing anyways. He leaned back in his chair, observing the dark sky through their windows. A couple more customers were in the store, and George knew Tuesday was too slow for anyone else to come in after they were gone anyway.  
  
The street lights were pretty in the rain outside, shining in odd directions because of the water interfering with his perception. Cars passing caused puddled rain to splash up against curbs.  
  
“Hey Kyle, boss didn’t show up today and after these customers are gone we both know damn well no one else is coming in.”  
  
George observed the window still, talking in its direction. He knew Kyle was attentive, though. Kyle would kill for a conversation with literally anybody.  
  
“How about we just lock up when they leave? It only seems to be coming down worse and worse. I don’t wanna drive home in a flooded car.”  
  
George chuckled at his own joke, and leaned back a little. He was confused when Kyle didn’t respond. Of all people Kyle was a very talkative person, could never shut up. How come he didn’t respond now, when George was presenting an opportunity to skip work, nonetheless? George spun around in his little stool chair, looking at Kyle’s register.  
  
The man. The man was there again.  
  
This time, there was no trance. His eyes just locked with George’s, almost teasing. Always out of his reach, yet so close. He was a presence where there should be none, a dream inside a reality. The yellow hoodie, always one step ahead, mocked him.  
  
The man stood and strode towards the door, and George was up and right behind him. He wasn’t gonna lose him this time. He needed to catch that man. He didn’t know why, something in him just said it was essential. He guessed he just didn’t like having his dreams outside of his head. Why should he?  
  
The man got in a car that George had never seen before, it was built an odd shape and colored a bright yellow. George ran to his own car, jamming the keys into ignition and revving it up for a split second before pulling out. He drove onto the same road the other car had, speeding up a bit to catch up.  
  
As he sped up, it also gained speed. George grunted, frustrated, and hit the gas. If this wasn’t a metaphor for the past week of his life, he didn’t know what was. What he yearned so desperately for was right in front of him, yet he couldn’t _catch it_ . He wasn’t sure how or why the man was here, but he needed this right now. He needed answers. He wanted closure. He knew he wouldn’t get any. If anything this would bring him more questions. Was he chasing his own sanity now, or his insanity? Was he asleep in his shower still, this nothing but part of his dream? Of his trance?  
  
He’d been so caught up in his own mental evaluation that he hadn’t realised the speeds his car had reached, going past other vehicles on the road and under beaming red lights just to chase the one in front of him. He heard distant sirens and could only assume they were for him. George floored his gas pedal.  
  
Soon there were no longer lights overhead and instead flashes and cracks of lightning. No longer a road, instead, now trampled, grass and wildflowers. George focused on the tail lights in front of him. His hands gripped his steering wheel so tightly his fingers were white and aching.   
  


The tree that was always so solace and distant was gaining size now, leaves whipping violently in the wind of the storm. George could barely see. His wind-sheild wipers slaved away the falling rain, but everything was blurry except for the two red dots of light in front of his car.  
  
It was only now that George registered they were red. Red. A color he had only seen with glasses to help defective eyes. He had no glasses on, and the lights were red.  
  
Those lights became the only thing he focused on, and after a little while it was all his mind would have processed anyways. He felt dizzy and his thoughts processed at a slow pace.  
  
Two red lights. I need those. I need to speak to that man. 

  
Red lights.  
  
Red.  
  
George’s body was brought to an abrupt stop.  
  
  
  
\-------------------------  
  
  
  
George looked up, sighing and opening his eyes lazily. He was lying out on the grass now, rain long since subdued. It was quite peaceful.  
  
He sat up violently. What happened? Wasn’t he just behind the wheel of a car? He looked to his right to see a cherry blossom not too far away, he might be able to sprint there in 5 or so minutes. He noticed a figure next to the tree. A figure with a yellow hoodie. The man.  
  
He stumbled as he forced himself to get up, falling over once or twice. His mind was dull and it was difficult for him to form thoughts. All he knew was that he needed to get to that man. To that dream.  
  
George tried to run to him, but his feet felt as though they were being pulled back by prison weights. He noticed something tug at his arm, and for the first time since chasing this man examined his body. He had an odd tube attached to his arm, which led down into the grass. George yanked it out along with a few other patches of what seemed to be cloth around his body. He was in clothes he did not recognize.  
  
I do not have time for this.  
  
George pushed himself forward, able to move a bit faster, though it still felt as though his feet were being dragged through mud. He pushed himself forward, the weight only getting worse and worse. Wind began to pick up, forcing George to put his forearm in front of his eyes to keep out the pollen from the field.  
  
He trudged forward, wind speed only picking up. The tree’s leaves whipped in a violent circle. Air beat against his ears as he pushed forward, covering his face to the point he could only see the man’s back. The yellow hoodie.  
  
He was close, but it came excruciatingly difficult to move. Left foot, right foot. Left foot, right.  
  
George looked up to the sky, half expecting it to rain. Instead, he was met with a loud and sudden beeping. Deafening, even. He put his hands over his ears and shut his eyes, willing the sound to go away. Please. It felt like his ears were exploding. He opened his eyes when we noticed a color change. Everything was flashing red now. The color was almost blinding, in and out with every ear-bleed inducing blare.  
  
George screamed. He couldn’t even hear himself over the combined noise of the wind and beeping.  
  
He pulled his head forward to see the man. He had now turned to look at George, white mask standing out against the red light and dark sky. His hand was outstretched, completely still despite the beating wind. George began to move forward again, feet still heavy.  
  
He wasn’t sure why, but this man was the answer to his problems right now.  
  
The brunette forced his burning legs to go to the other, and that only caused them to hurt more. Eventually it wasn’t just as if his feet were weighed down, but he seemed to be sinking with every step. Moving entire calves through muddy slosh he couldn’t see.  
  
The male stopped his struggle when he was met with denim in his face instead of the whipping tips of tall grass and wildflowers. He looked up. The man had directed his outstretched hand to George. He happily took it and the man pulled him out of the muddy ground. He noticed that his own jeans weren’t dirty, as though he’d not been stuck in mud moments before. He looked up to meet the man’s gaze. Even though he had to squint because of the blinding, blinking light, George could still meet the other’s eyes. He felt safe. He knew he was anything but safe, far from it, but he felt safe.  
  


The man dropped his hand, instead pulling George into his chest. The shorter wept. He couldn’t remember the last time anyone had touched him, dream or not. Yet here he was, in a field being held by a man he didn’t even know the name of, where an alarm blared so loud he feared he’d never hear again.  
  
Little did he know, he probably wouldn’t.  
  
The man pushed away, giving George space to backup. This is the only place he’d felt safe in since childhood, the recesses of his own mind. The only place he was welcome. To George, it was just as real as reality, if not more so.  
  
His ears began to bleed.  
  
The man in the yellow hoodie held something out, and the brunette looked down to see what was in his open palm. A small vile, tinted glass and a mesh cap. George picked it up out of the other’s hand and examined it. He was still experiencing extreme stress, yes, but everything seemed almost soothing now, in the presence of the man. The lights a bit less blinding, the noise a bit less deafening.  
  
George popped the cap.  
  
The other’s gaze seemed to encourage him, a silent promise it would make all of this better.  
  
He thought back to his lonely nights in his barren room, cold and huddled under his covers. Playing Minecraft just to pass the time until his next minimum wage shift. Staring out of his window at the street below and wishing he was anywhere else.  
  
Was this somewhere else? Why did he have to leave so soon?  
  
George just wanted to sleep.  
  
He was so tired.  
  
Of driving, of waking up in unknown places, of this man following him.  
  
He just wanted a good night’s rest.  
  
He held the vile against his now trembling lips, mind racing with outcomes. All George wanted was answers, yet he felt like it would be better without them. Wanted solace, yet yearned for the quick pace and mystery of his mind.  
  
 **ᵂʰᵃᵗ ᵈⁱᵈ ʰᵉ ʷᵃⁿᵗ?**  
  
  
\-------------------------  
  
  
Something drove George to make a decision in the end. Something pulled him forward. Perhaps a dream of a better, more peaceful life. Perhaps the promise to be held again by the man in the yellow hoodie.  
  
Perhaps curiosity?  
  
You know what they say, though.  
  
 **Curiosity killed the cat.**  
  
 **:)**  
  
  
  
  
  
\-------------------------  
  
  
  
  
Mention of death  
  
At 3:56 AM on 6/14/2017  
  
George H Davidson.  
Male  
5’8  
  
Cause of death-  
Suicide by controlled medical substances.  
  
Pla̶c̶e̶ ̶o̶f̶  
  
  
 _To whom it may concern,  
  
George was always a wild soul. He’d go places he’d never seen, be in a world none of us were living in. He’d often explain to me that he saw stars when there were none, felt the wind on his face even when sitting alone at a dinner table eating a frozen meal. He preferred his imagination over the real world, and I can see that now. I can understand why. I know George was never close to anyone, but I wish he’d been more open to me about what was going on. In a way, I almost blame myself for this. Funny. I should’ve been more present. I couldn’t stop seeing him as the little boy that walked into my office at the age of 9, a little boy with a big imagination and no limits. It was more than that. George was someone that no one really understood, not even himself. A loner. He knew his own head best, though.  
  
I guess, in the end,  
he preferred his dream over his reality.  
  
**\- Dr Cora Beisley**_

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading. I appreciate it.


End file.
